


(Don't) Don't You Want Me?

by jazzypizzaz



Series: take what you get and you turn it into [3]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Eventual Smut, Idiots in Love, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, but with an indulgent amount of sweetness at the end, even when he's... topping?, there is no top quark, they both think it's the other one that wanted this, with truly terrible communication skills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzypizzaz/pseuds/jazzypizzaz
Summary: Quark should have expected it really.Not that Quark could have anticipated Odo’s second, and this time likely permanent, physical transformation, but he should have known that their affair would meet its end somehow.  Just like they always do, for Quark.The truth is that he had hoped this time it would be different.  That Odo would be different.And yet, now Odo, a shapeshifter again, won’t be spending latinum on drinks from the bar, and he also won’t be indulging any other bodily desires with Quark either.After all, that’s the real reason they ever got together, right?
Relationships: Odo/Quark, Quark/Klingon Chef
Series: take what you get and you turn it into [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1656001
Comments: 37
Kudos: 84





	1. break up

**Author's Note:**

> Title from that song. More songs on a playlist for this fic [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4OvjyklaiRkfkJGSy5KIv3).  
> I like to think that “What Is This Feeling…?” has a happily ever after and a sequel isn’t necessary, but also the thought of what would happen to their relationship when Odo became a shapeshifter again wouldn’t leave me, so... If that one was about resolving sexual tension, this one is about resolving the romantic tension ^_^

“Well, well, look who it is!” Quark, in the middle of booting up the replicators for breakfast shift, breaks out into a fond grin. “I heard you put on quite a show last night on the Promenade. If I knew I would have sold tickets.”

“The Promenade is a public place,” Odo said with a guffaw. “You can’t restrict movement entry, that’s --” 

“Against the law, I know. Too bad.” Quark began arranging the raktajino mugs on the counter, ready for quick pouring. “Well, I could have served a specialty drink at least. The Golden Odo? Constable with Wings, served with a little umbrella? In any case, I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Odo, leaning against the door arch with folded arms to watch the first morning traffic form on the Promenade, starts in surprise at this. “Not mourning the loss of my drink purchases then? You realize I no longer require any of your sustenance.”

Several officers trickle in, and Quark pours them their caffeine. “As hard as it may be to believe, I have more profitable business than the occasional cup of tea. Not that every slip of latinum and every customer isn’t of utmost importance to me.” Quark nods graciously.

Odo narrows his eyes. “Surely me having my old abilities again will make it more difficult for you to conduct your schemes… What are you planning?”

Quark considers, then an oily, lascivious grin oozes onto his face. “Why don’t you meet me at the back storeroom during the mid-afternoon lull, and I’ll tell you more?”

Odo harrumphs, smiling. “I don’t take direction from conmen.” 

Quark rolls his eyes; he’s used to Odo’s approach to flirting. “No, no, I mean… I’ll _show_ you. Or, you’ll show me.” He reaches over the counter to grab Odo’s arm, and leans forward with expectation for the _something_ that Quark and Odo had been doing together every day for the past two weeks. He winks with great exaggeration. 

Odo looks down at Quark’s hand on him, then back up at Quark. His eyes widen a little, and there’s a hint of confusion in the downturn of his mouth. He seems to realize something and a sound escapes -- a clearing of the throat halfway between a grunt and a chuckle. 

Quark waits for the punchline.

“I said I no longer require your _sustenance_ ,” Odo says in a mocking tone, the one he reserves to make fun of Quark. (Fondly, or so Quark chooses to interpret it. He has the lobes for the nuance of auditory tones after all.) “I’m a Changeling again, remember?” 

Odo smiles at that last part, so joyous and giddy with this development that Quark can’t help but smile back at him. 

“Good for you, but bad for business. Yeah yeah I get it,” Quark says, still not entirely sure what Odo’s implying here.

“I don’t need anything from you.” That bemused Odo-sound again. Still smiling, Odo leaves for the rest of his morning rounds. 

Quark mulls over what Odo said. His vicarious cheer withers and hardens into an unfortunate realization.

“Oh,” Quark says aloud to no one. Morn raises an eyeridge. 

\---

Quark should have expected it really.

Rule #47: “The Great Material Continuum is always shifting course, so be careful not to capsize.” He’s more than familiar with every saying in the book, as he should be since he’s lived them time and again. 

They’re only cliche because they’re true.

Not that Quark could have anticipated Odo’s second, and this time likely permanent, body transformation, but he should have known that their affair would meet its end somehow. Just like they always do, for Quark. 

He had hoped this time it would be different. That Odo would be different.

Even more damning is that he’s the cause of his own misery. 

But again, that’s nothing new.

What else was he supposed to do, anyway? Have the blood -- or well, goo -- of that sick baby changeling on his ledger? Be arrested, or worse _fined_ , for child endangerment or disregard for sentient life or whatever charge Odo would surely think up? 

Was he supposed to never see that look of pure wonder in Odo’s eyes as he gazed upon that cup of beige mucus -- and to forgo earning those eight slips of latinum?

Perish the thought; Quark would eat the Rules of Acquisition before he’d ever avoid an opportunity for profit.

(And if that profitable activity will also make the local security chief, his lover, happy then all the better.)

Yet because of this, Odo is back to soaring the halls as a Tarkalean eagle, while Quark is on the ground, left behind yet again. Odo won’t be spending latinum on fizzy water or warm tea from the bar anymore, and he also won’t be indulging his _other_ bodily desires with Quark either.

After all, that’s the real reason they ever got together, right? The part Quark played was a barkeep with benefits, a solution to Odo’s humanoid predicament, and their physical trysts were nothing more than brief convenient diversions from their usual roles as adversaries... 

But oh what benefits those were.

Now Quark will never again know the feeling of Odo’s hard length rubbing up against all his most sensitive parts, the firmness of those strong hands stroking his lobes until he sees stars, the exact mix of firmness and regard that gave Quark twenty of the most incredible orgasms of his life (and he’s had quite a few to compare).

Now that he knows what sex with Odo is like, Quark may never be able to come again.

He’s really _really_ going to miss that cock.

(He’s going to miss the way Odo smiled at him after, like Quark was the missing clue to every investigation Odo ever conducted, like Quark was necessary and vital and worthwhile.)

Laden with the all-too-familiar frustration of tingling lobes without the promise of oomox (and the heavy pit of loss in his gut), yet again Quark is left kicking himself for getting his hopes up.

Rule #285: “No good deed ever goes unpunished.” 

(What does Quark have to offer the shapeshifter now? The same old game they’ve always played and nothing of the _more_ Quark has now tasted.)

Quark really ought to have known better.

\---

_Security Log: Stardate 49970.1_

_Ten hours have passed since I became myself again. Ten glorious hours. After the four weeks, two days, eleven hours, and twelve minutes I was condemned to life trapped in solid form, the relief has been profound. Yet there are trillions of humanoids in the universe who must resign themselves to this existence for their entire lives. True, I had convinced myself that I had come to terms with my fate; that while life in that body was inconvenient at best and utterly repulsive at worst, it had its advantages as well._

_But nothing could compare to how it feels to be back into my true form._

_Perhaps it’s not so bad for them, those poor single-form solids -- they’ve never known the pure joy of melting to the floor to slip under a criminal’s locked door, or the satisfaction of swooping down from the second level Promenade to prevent a petty thief’s hasty retreat, or amusement of seeing the look on the local bartender’s face when springing forth from what he had assumed was an innocuous half-empty synthale._

_That last one, I take special joy in. One must keep the local shady elements on their toes, never let them feel too secure in their surroundings. Yes, while I found workarounds as a solid, my particular talents as a shapeshifter are indeed necessary to my line of work._

_Despite this, there is one major drawback to my recent transformation: Quark’s semi-legal transgressions, chaotic snafus, clandestine business entanglements, and general scheming were down by almost 50% in the weeks before the baby Changeling integration. I can only conclude that this was due to the distraction I provided by --_ [sound of a throat being cleared that doesn’t need to be cleared] _\-- by --_ [distorted sounds in the log recording] _with the unfortunate need to satisfy my bodily functions. Besides being the solution to personal, ahem, issues, the_ [grumbling sound] _the coitus proved to be a most efficient method of minimizing criminal activity on the station. Not a surprise, in retrospect, since it kept the most blatant purveyor of lawlessness on the station occupied, distracted, and satiated._

_This is an effect I have observed during other trysts of Quark’s, though never to this great of an extent._

_However, now that I can no longer perform this act in the manner he’s accustomed to, nor do I have any need to for my own requirements, I must resort to old methods. Surely without this activity to distract him, crime and chaos will reign down upon the station once more. And I cannot let that happen._

\---

Distracted by the tail end of the lunch rush, as soon as he notices Odo approaching, out of habit Quark finds himself pouring a glass of fizzy water and setting it at the usual spot. However, once the sloshing from those shapeshifter insides filter into Quark’s ears through the background noise, Quark realizes his mistake with a grimace.

“And who’s this water for, Quark?” Odo leans onto the counter casually, like nothing has changed except his buoyant good mood.

“No one.” Quark scowls at him. He shoves the glass back in the replicator and directs his attention to a Bajoran beside him. 

“Could we get refills on raktajino for the table in the corner? We’ve been trying to get someone’s attention for fifteen minutes.” The Bajoran gestures with irritation towards her chronometer.

“All this activity, and you took the time to pour a drink for no one? How odd.” Odo’s smug grin is infuriating.

“Two double sweet, one half-strength? It has my undivided attention.” Quark oozes cordiality to the Bajoran. He shoots a scowl in Odo’s direction. “No one that concerns you.” 

“Hmph. I thought it might have been my usual thirteen-hundred-hour hydration,” Odo says, nonplussed. “Not usual anymore. Because if you’ll recall our chat this morning --”

“Yes, I _heard_.” Quark focuses on measuring out sweetener for the raktajinos. “It’s the talk of the station.” 

“You were happy for me earlier.”

Quark frowns. He shrugs. “Like you said, no more drinks or food I can convince you to buy.”

“No more of me complaining about bodily functions in your bar,” Odo counters. “No more moping about how I’ll never know existence as a Dakhur sparrow.”

“I’ll have to worry once again whether any stool I sit on or glassware I drink from might secretly be you in disguise. My short relief from second-guessing innocuous inanimate objects is over.”

“But I thought you liked the challenge that my shapeshifting brings. You do always say that I keep you on your toes, sharpen your devious criminal mind --”

“Yeah well I lied. I preferred you distractible.”

“Fine,” Odo says, now scowling. Quark turns his back on him to pour out the freshly brewed raktajino. “You should at least be happy that I won’t make demands on your valuable time with my, ahem, physical needs--”

“And no more oomox for me!” Quark grumbles. “From you anyway.” 

Odo grunts in surprise.

“Why bother,” Quark says. Odo wouldn’t be getting anything out of it anymore, after all, so why would Odo even want to. “Your shapeshifting ruined everything.”

Odo purses his lips. “I see.”

“So, congrats again, I do know how important this was to you,” Quark says. He means it and he doesn’t. “But do you have a point, or are you here to get in the way of paying customers?”

Odo looks a bit lost now, oddly reminiscent of his first days as a humanoid as the reality of his situation had sunk in.

Quark hesitates, mugs in hand.

He considers it a point of personal pride that he eventually figured out the exact vices to distract Odo from his worst nightmare of becoming a solid. It was a mark of his good business sense, even if the most effective “vice” was personal in nature. But perhaps Quark has misjudged. Maybe their recent relationship did mean more to Odo than a solution to a problem --

No, no.

Odo has everything he ever wanted now, and Quark is the one short-shrifted, as ever.

A trick of the goo.

Odo shakes his head. He gestures for Quark to carry on with his work.

Quark about-faces to the Bajorans’ table.

He bustles around, taking his time working the back of the house, leaving the counter area to Broik for the time being. 

Odo stays at the bar, surveying the area, looking a bit silly and pointless all alone without even a drink to sip on. Normal. Though if Quark doesn’t even glance that way (well, barely), it’s because there’s too much to do elsewhere, not that he’s avoiding Odo. 

Eventually, Odo wanders out onto the Promenade without another word, smug smile that he arrived with long since gone. The bar was claustrophobic with him there, hovering, but now it feels too empty.

“Broik, I’ll be in the storage room, I have to… get a bottle of...” Quark trails off with a gesture, then leaves. He doesn’t owe his employees explanations.

Breathing shallowly, Quark focuses on the storage room shelves, stocked high with: bottles tall and short, a range of colors from neutral to vivid, ones for uptight cheapskates and ones for flamboyant high rollers. 

About this time the day before yesterday, he gave Odo a blowjob against that shelf. That sweet, massive dick.

Quark bursts into tears.

\---

_Security Log: Stardate 49970.2_

_Quark has been irritable throughout the day, unlike the cheerfulness of the past week. This is in line with my previous suspicions._

_While mercurial even at the best of times, a shift in mood like this has on prior occasions foretold trouble for Quark -- a deal gone awry, victims of his cheating seeking dividends, jealous lovers looking for revenge, the accumulation of debts, etc. Four times throughout the day I attempted to strike up conversation and was brushed off with hardly a quip in response -- a sure sign of distraction and a troubled conscience. Perhaps this has something to do with the fact that we will no longer continue with the added physical component to our relationship, although I see no reason to give up the satisfaction of giving_ him _pleasure, but perhaps as a Changeling again this detracts from the experience somehow,_ [“Computer, delete last two clauses. Pleasure, hmph. I’m beginning to sound like him.”] _or perhaps greater trouble is afoot._

_Regardless of the impetus, his reluctance to gossip or complain with me is an additional security risk in that I am less privy to the greater workings of the station that do not directly concern him._

_Start with checking for discrepancies in visitor and cargo logs. Note to continue surveillance._

\---

Quark pokes his head into the security office, a rush of nerves in his stomach. 

He’s not anxious that he may be in trouble with the law and might face consequences, though with the amount of shady deals he’s toeing-the-line on at any given time, it’s always a possibility of course. 

No, Quark has the irrational hope that this is a personal call.

It’s not of course, Quark knows it isn’t, or at the very least he has calculated that the odds are very slim that this will be the triumphant combination of apology and booty call he longs for -- but it’s odds Quark is willing to gamble on it all the same. 

Quark tries out a rakish grin. “You… wanted to see me? Decided I’m worth your attention now?” 

He places his bet, spins the wheel, the ball bounces, bounces, and --

A corner of Odo’s mouth quirks up. “You’re always worth my attention, Quark, you know that.”

Dabo, sweet dabo.

“Ah-ha! I knew it. I _knew_ you would regret --”

“Worth my time to investigate every roguish act, each step of yours towards villainy, the wicked meandering as you bumble deeper into a life of misdeeds --”

If this conversation actually were a dabo table, Quark would overturn it onto the floor.

“Fine, I get it.” Quark scowls, deflated. “‘Wicked meandering’ -- you’re reading O’Brien’s crime narl books again aren’t you. Gave up on those Bajoran romance novels then?”

“It’s crime _noir_ , but that’s not the point.” Odo frowns and flips through a PADD, then shoves it in Quark’s face. “Here -- recognize these people?”

Quark eyes widen at the series of mug shots. He tentatively glances back at Odo and shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe. What’s it to you?”

“I ensured they were arrested this morning.”

“But--!” Quark sputters for a moment, stuck on whether to deny recognition or express outrage. He jabs at one particularly wrinkled face. “This one, Burba Slik--”

“A second ago you weren’t even sure you knew him.” 

“Never mind that. What did he do?”

“Tax fraud back on Texlia. And I know you owe him a considerable amount of money, so you should be grateful if anything.”

“We had an _arrangement_. But... it is hard to collect while in jail,” Quark concedes. His eyes dart anxiously from one frowning photo to the next. ”But Yolanda? Grippgor? S’fek?” 

“Selling root beer without license, over capacity on a passenger vessel, expired pilot certification.” Odo lists off on his fingers. “And that’s just Yolanda Von.”

“You don’t need a license for root beer, hewmons would rebel.”

“You do on Gorn -- it’s toxic to the local wildlife.”

“Gorn?!” Quark scoffs unbelievingly. “Odo, that’s not even in your jurisdiction, and the rest are minor offenses at best. I’m willing to bet that’s the case for the rest of them as well. I’m betting you could let them all off with a warning.”

“Yet you admit they _have_ committed crimes, and you knowingly consort with such criminals. Tsk, tsk.” Odo shakes his head. 

Quark sighs and plunks down into a chair. “Odo, this will seriously impact my profits for this quarter. Grippor alone supplied half the live food on this station!”

“Grippor, who you were planning to launder certain low quality vintages of bloodwine through, and who has in the past fought duels with people for much less. So really, I’m doing you a favor--”

“You’re -- you’re punishing me!” Quark heaves. The wheels in his head spin to find an angle. “I did _you_ a favor, and this is the thanks I get.”

“You were doing me a favor by consorting with criminals?” Odo says in a skeptical deadpan.

“No before that -- helping you out,” Quark lifts his browridge with innuendo, “in your time of need.”

“Ah, the intercourse.” Odo clears his throat. 

“And all manner of--” Quark waves his hand vaguely. “-- _course_.”

Odo’s smugness fades. He fiddles with the PADDs in the awkward pause. “I realize things have… changed… between us, but what do you expect, that I let crime run rampant because we once made--" He clears his throat. “--because we were together.”

“Ever hear of quid pro quo, tit for tat? Because now you’re making it clear I don’t get any quo and certainly no tat. It was _charity_ for all the thanks I’ve gotten.” 

Quark’s heart is pounding, the unfairness of the situation welling up in him. Now that he’s said it aloud, he believes he’s in the right here. While anything from a low tip on a bill to a customer choosing the replimat instead of his bar Quark would take as a personal insult to his goodwill and gallant hospitality, Odo’s lack of reciprocality at the moment is having an outsized effect on him.

(Odo took that wonderful cock away from Quark, and he’s not even sorry about it. The nerve.)

(Odo made Quark think maybe he cared about him, but probably he never did.)

Odo gets up from behind the security desk to skulk awkwardly over to where Quark sits. For a fleeting moment, Quark thinks Odo will attempt to comfort him. But instead Odo turns to look out the window at the Promenade. 

“Even though we’re not… that doesn’t mean I feel any differently. It can be the same.”

This should be a normal situation between them. Quark tries a gambit, Odo counters, Quark adapts his play, and so on. An exhilarating, challenging, evenly matched tongo game that never ends.

For one winning round, however, Quark had a full consortium -- Odo’s hands, his mouth, his _cock_. Now Quark knows he’ll never get that again.

(He also made the mistake of betting his heart, the one game piece try as he might he can’t play without, but he’s not ready to admit that yet.)

Nothing’s changed and yet everything has. Game over.

“Normal, pshaw… You know the five stages of acquisition?” Quark waits until Odo gives an assenting grunt. He takes a deep breath -- this may be the final card up his sleeve, a play of last resort. “We’re long past the first four, and well into the fifth. Good riddance to you.”

Odo turns back around. “Resale? Quark...”

The sudden pressure of Odo’s hand on his shoulder is so surprising, Quark doesn’t realize at first what it is. Quark starts to relax into the touch, before he remembers it won’t lead to anything else ever again. That as Odo has told him time and again, such humanoid sensations are foreign to a shapeshifter. That, in the end, none of Odo’s touches ever meant anything at all.

Pity and condescension, or so Quark assumes, nothing more.

Quark wretches himself from the touch like it was debt collection notice. Time to go all in and call Odo’s bluff. “The deal is long past over. I thought maybe you would have learned something as a humanoid, but I guess not. I hope shapeshifting is worth it.”

Here’s where Odo tries to reason with him, rolls his eyes and says Quark won’t get rid of him that easy. Sure, maybe Odo used him a bit for his ‘humanoid needs’, but hey he still values the game they play… still values Quark.

‘Still’ implying that he ever did, or at least that he could ever admit that (to himself or to Quark). Quark should know better than that.

Instead, Odo jerks back as if Quark had slapped him. His face hardens. “Fine.” 

Quark’s stomach plunges with instant regret. “Wait! I was -- kidding. Just admit you owe me a favor, and then we can be even, and forget all about this...”

“Hmmph! The need for your so-called charity is over. Don’t go writing it off on your taxes.” 

“You don’t need me, then fine I don’t need you either!”

Quark impulsively pushes at the scattered PADDs on the desk. A few clatter on the floor, but hardly enough to have the dramatic effect he intended. Odo, withdrawn into himself, barely reacts. 

Quark huffs and stalks off.

\---

_Security Log: Stardate 49970.7_

_It occurs to me that none of Quark’s ‘liaisons’ have lasted very long. I had always assumed it was due to his lovers getting to know his true nature and wising up_ [amused hmph], _but perhaps this is the way he prefers. The thrill of novelty, a tumultuous sexual affair, a parting of ways. Like one of his holoprograms._

_To realize that the warmth and connection we shared was entirely contingent on sexual activity is disappointing, but, knowing Quark and his proclivities..._

[Deep sigh. Tapping of fingers on desk. Silence.]

_Perhaps unsurprising._

[Knocking sound.

“Are you busy?”

“Evening, Dax. Just updating the security log.”

“Oh, good so you’re free.”

“As I said, I’m in the middle of--”

“Constable, I don’t claim to have any idea what happened between you two --”

“Commander...”

“But I have to say, as a friend of both of yours, this breakup is taking its toll.”

“Breakup?”

“With Quark. He’s day-drinking, cancelling happy hour, carelessly flirting with anyone with a pulse, grousing to everyone else about the low market value of love these days, overcharging couples on dates, refusing to admit there’s anything wrong, and generally making a mess of himself. Do you think he’s doing that because he has _good_ coping mechanisms?”

“Sounds like Quark as usual to me.”

“Constable, I know you’re more observant than that.”

“Fine. Day-drinking is quite strange, I’ve taken a note of it. But I assure you I have been monitoring his activity closely. He won’t get away with anything on my watch.”

“That’s not what I’m -- _Odo_ please _._ We’re worried about you, as our friends! Well, Miles was mostly worried about the cancelled happy hour, but the rest of us, they voted for me to come talk to you about it. Or, Kira was against the idea and Benjamin is staying out of it altogether, but -- Odo! I’ve never seen either one of you so happy as last week, after all this time, you two _finally_ dating --”

“Dating?”

“Don’t give me that, yes you and Quark dating. I thought you were past the denial phase.” 

“Hmph.” Pause. “I… I’m not sure we were dating. We didn’t… go on dates.”

“Besides going at it like Vulcans on pon farr, you mean.”

“ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Trust me, after so many lifetimes, I know when someone’s getting laid. And Quark isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Hmph. There won’t be more of that.”

“Is it something Quark did? I know he's an idiot, but… as hard as it can be to believe he does mean well. And you have to know he's crazy about you." 

Disbelieving snort. “The path to many a jail cell is paved with so-called good intentions.”

"Your relationship has been so long in the making. I’d hate for you to throw it away over some petty miscommunication.”

Pause. Clearing of throat. “There are… certain irreconcilable differences, for him. Case closed.”

“But I thought the whole opposites attract thing was part of the appeal. I’m sure that --”

“Dax. Please. I know you mean well, but this is a private matter.”

Pause. “That’s what Worf thought you’d say, now I owe him three strips.” Sigh. “I do think it would help, if you ever want to talk it over...”

“I have nothing else to say.”

“I really don’t mean to meddle, but --”

“Then don’t.” Pause. “If you have any _security_ -related matters don’t hesitate to let me know.”

Pause. “Take care of yourself, Odo.” 

Whoosh of door opening and closing.

Long silence.

“Computer, delete current log.”]

_Arrests made for Quark’s criminal contacts as discussed in previous entry. No further issue. Note to conduct background check for inevitable replacements. Continue to monitor Quark’s erratic behavior, indirectly if possible. This is a strictly professional inquest._


	2. rebound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for some brief violence near the end of this chapter I suppose? especially for any phobia related to worms...

\---

Quark sways grandly into Garak’s shop. A little too grandly -- the movement leaves him off-balance and he has to clutch at a mannequin to correct himself.

Garak peers up from a pile of purple Bajoran burlap that he’s huddled over at his desk. He raises an eyeridge. “Mr. Quark, I fear you may have taken a wrong turn. The bar is around the corner.”

“No, no, I’m here for you to - _hic_ \- excuse me,” Quark places a hand over his mouth. He draws himself up, the warmth and loose feeling of the alcohol flowing through him. Andorian liquors always make him feel _magnificent_ , why doesn’t he drink them more often?

“Sampling your own stock?” Garak says with the lightest touch of amusement.

“So? So what! I sell the stuff, ‘sbout time I uuuuh make sure it’s up to snuff. But, that’s none of your _hic_ business,” Quark chides. “Your business is to make me look like a winner!”

“Not sure if I have a surcharge high enough to cover that.” Garak mutters, buries his attention back into the burlap.

“Ha ha _ha_ ,” Quark says sarcastically. Then he dissolves into a case of actual giggles. “Don’t expect me to pay any surcharge without a healthy round of negotiation.”

Garak flicks his tongue out, discreetly smelling the air. “Hmm! _Exotic_ liquors, how unexpected of you.”

“I can _hear_ the judgement in your voice!” Quark gesticulates at his lobes. “But who doesn’t deserve a little pick-me-up every once in a while? That’s what I tell all my cus- cust- customomers.”

That didn’t sound right. Garak clicks his teeth.

“The people at my bar! I seem to rememm-” Quark pauses and concentrates on not slurring the word. “Re-mem-ber _someone_ trying to drink up all my kanar at one point --”

Garak heaves a put-upon sigh. “Any number of someones I’m sure.”

“Say…” Quark eyes Garak’s solid figure, his blocky, capable hands. “You know… if you aren’t busy this evening, I have an extra bottle of Karok’s 23rd vintage in my quarters. You could stop by, and we could… share it.” Quark runs a bold hand across his ear.

Garak’s eyeridges rise into his hairline. There’s a spark of something in his eyes -- a dangerous, unpredictable spark. Quark belatedly recalls why he’s never made advances on Garak before.

“Really? You keep a brand of exclusive kanar widely known to be palatable only to Carassians, in your quarters?” There’s an ironic twist in Garak’s tone, and it feels like the opening to an interrogation.

“Oh -ok well,” Quark says hesitantly, “it’s uh at the bar, but I can bring it with to --”

“Isn’t that a little strange for your tastes? A little too alien?”

“I don’t understand what --”

“Never mind,” Garak says lightly, but his eyes are still glinting. “Now did you require my professional services, or are you just here to find someone to justify your life choices to? I have customers of my own after all.” Garak shakes the hideous burlap at Quark, previously line of inquiry forgotten. For now.

Quark breathes a sigh of relief, though not entirely sure why. “The- ah- liquor sampling is a short-lived habit. I’ve decided it’s time to move on to _retail therapy_.”

Lately he’s felt so heavy, and sometimes getting through the day seems to take so much effort. Who could blame him for attempting to sprinkle a little liquid cheer into his day? However, the way it had cut into his profits (the cost of the alcohol itself, as well as lost tips and haggling opportunities while tipsy) has only pushed him into more of a slump, and Quark is nothing if not adaptable -- time for a new tactic.

“Ah! Then you’ve come to the right place.” Garak smiles and puts down the purple fabric.

He's considerably more genial now, as he should be, seeing as Quark’s penchant for elaborate outfits has been a consistent source of income for him over the years. Quark wonders if he imagined the strange tension just a few moments earlier.

Garak grabs a stack of fabric samples from under the counter and a PADD with the latest styles from across the Quadrant. Quark fingers the brocades and chintzes greedily, a kaleidoscope of gleaming color combos. The PADD has a number of bookmarked patterns that catch his eye. The selections were made with intention, with careful consideration for their audience...

“Why Garak!” Quark’s hand flutters to his chest. “You’ve been thinking of me, as a valued customer! Anticipating my next purchase. Why that’s almost _Ferengi_ of you, I’m touched.” He swoons a little, entirely sincere and a little over-emotional with the quickly dissipating alcohol in his system.

“Yes well I’ve found myself with some extra time. _Certain_ people prefer to replicate their holosuite costumes lately,” Garak mutters grimly.

“The nerve of _certain_ people!” Quark says, having a good inkling of who exactly Garak is talking about. It strikes him how he and Garak are in somewhat similar positions at the moment. Perhaps Quark can navigate this sale into some added benefit for himself after all. He gives Garak a coy smile. “You get what you pay for, and no mere replicator could produce a Garak original.” He winks.

Garak puckers his face briefly, but his tone is as light and breezy as ever. “And perhaps you would even pay for an extra ‘styling fee’ on your bill?”

“You wouldn’t!” Quark gasps, positively delighted. He places a companionable hand on Garak’s arm. “A friendly face, a new suit, _and_ a chance to haggle, I knew walking into your shop was just what I needed.”

“Is that so.” While diverting Quark’s attention back to the fabric and patterns, Garak deftly shifts away from where Quark has slid in closer. A generic salesman’s smile slides back onto Garak’s face -- or perhaps it’s a grimace. “Have you decided on a new suit then, Mr. Quark?”

Playing hard to get, is he? Quark would expect nothing less from Garak; it’d be more suspicious if he showed straightforward interest. “How about… this coat with these pants? In the burgundy chenille and added gold sequins along the seams.”

“And an extra buckle here.” Garak points at the pattern.

“I know you’re trying to upsell me… and it’s working. Two buckles!” Quark grins.

“Good. I can get started on this for you and it can be ready by --”

“Wait! Don’t you uh…” Quark doesn’t want the interaction to end, just as he was starting to have some fun. “Need to measure me?”

“I have your measurements on file. For several years, as you are aware,” Garak says mildly.

“But -- what if they’ve changed? I need to make sure it’s properly fitted. It’s a -- a business investment. I’m meeting with new contacts and want to look my best.”

Garak sighs. “Fine.” He whips out a measuring scanner, waving the small device in brisk professional movements along Quark’s limbs. “Just in case your calves have managed to lengthen. Or that Andorian sherry you’ve been drinking has widened your waistline.”

Quark watches the small red light on the device blink with each centimeter as Garak scans it up his leg. Garak reaches the top of his inseam and clicks a button to record the measurement. Quark imagines Garak’s quick hands several centimeters closer, running up his leg… He licks his lips.

“Speaking of alien indulgences…” Garak says lightly, almost flirtatiously, but the dangerous glint in his eye has returned.

“Uh, yes? If it’s alien indulgence that interests you, _well_ I can bring other fine libations than kanar back to my quarters tonight, if you’d prefer...”

“Take Odo for example.”

The name is a bucket of ice water drenching Quark’s intentions. “Odo.” Quark gulps, getting the distinct feeling that this conversation is not going to be about Andorian sherry, or Garak’s previous doubts about his kanar selections, or any possible rebound flirtation. He forgot about Garak and Odo’s strange friendship. “What about him?”

“See I always thought you were more cosmopolitan, not so close-minded as those humans who only indulge in human liquors, Bajorans who are only satisfied by Bajoran wines.”

“Odo doesn’t drink anymore, I’m sure you’ve heard,” Quark says, far more bitterly than he intends. Now he’s tipped his hand -- this is why he usually prefers a clear, sober head. Ah well. “And anyway I’m a bartender, it’s my business to boast a wide variety of beverages from across the galaxy--”

Garak gives him a withering look. “Consider this. I have breakfast with Odo regularly, as you know. Do I need tea in the morning to start my day? Not really, but it’s a comfort and a habit. Odo doesn’t even eat or drink -- not anymore -- but he still joins me, even shifts a fake cup of coffee --”

“Yet he wouldn’t try coffee, when he was solid.” Quark’s head is spinning. He remembers why he doesn’t talk to Garak often.

“So you _do_ understand. Does it matter that Odo is not technically ingesting liquid, not hydrating or caffeinating himself, like all the other breakfasters around us? No. I drink my unnecessary Cardassian tea, and he ‘drinks’ his shapeshifter coffee, and we enjoy each other’s company. If I cancelled, say to go galavant in a frivolous holosuite program instead…” A brief dark look. “Then Odo wouldn’t go thirsty, but he would still be disappointed. It matters that we drink together. It doesn’t matter _what_ we drink. But you, Quark, have suddenly decided that that’s all that matters.”

“But -- but I -- I do like Andorian sherry and kanar and --”

“You enjoy a vast array of beverages from every culture and corner of two and a half Quadrants… the whole range of _couplings_ in your holosuite programs -- every shape, size, and configuration…” Garak’s eye contact is direct, unblinking, an interrogator’s stare. “And yet. You can’t make it work with a shapeshifter.”

Quark splutters. “He -he’s the one that doesn’t want ‘coffee’! With me. So you see, it’s not _my_ fault.”

“Are you sure? Or perhaps you’ve simply become bored with him, and you’ve decided that was a fun adventure, but really you’d rather stick with your own kind, married or not, rather spin yourself into elaborate boyish fantasies, retreat into your own delusions of grandeur --”

Garak bitterly rambles on, and Quark is well-aware Garak is not talking about him anymore. Quark coughs, and Garak cuts off abruptly.

“Well, you’re not the only one around here jumping to conclusions, treating other people like you treat your customers -- guiding them to particular purchases, no matter their actual desires!” Garak huffs.

“Hardly.” In for a strip, in for a brick. “But maybe you’d still like um. Kanar? Like I offered, tonight? I think we’ve established that I do enjoy foreign, ah, ‘beverages’ _and_ good company.”

“I think not.” Garak sighs deeply, and gives Quark a pitying look. “Probably best if we drink away our disappointments in our own separate, empty beds.”

“Whatever you say... But with a suit like this,” Quark taps back at the PADD with the design he picked out, “I don’t intend my bed to be empty for long.”

\---

_Audio recorded letter sent to Betazed, office of Ambassador Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed_

_Lwaxana,_

_Thank you for your correspondence. I am glad that you are doing well in these uncertain times. I apologize for not responding to any of your twenty-seven letters or holocalls since your last visit (our wedding). Managing security on Deep Space Nine is a consuming job, especially in light of our political atmosphere. I did not think I had anything on a personal level to tell you in response, and frankly I also did not see the point._

_There have been major upheavals in my life recently however -- I was trapped into a solid form (long story) and then recently restored back with all Changeling abilities -- and I am growing tired of deleting my security logs. Perhaps writing to another person will be more productive than rambling to the computer. So here goes._

_One distinct advantage to spending time as a humanoid was the insight I gained into the sensations and workings of the human body. I am experimenting with certain shapeshifted flourishes I didn’t bother with before. Individual teeth and the way they connect to the gums. Toenails beneath boots. Nerves in my fingertips (though with limited success). The digestive tract is daunting and I’m happy to be free of its demands, but sometimes I can configure my nasal passages in the right way to smell. Most of these details are tedious to keep up for any length of time, but I take new pride in testing my abilities._

_That first time we met, the Founder told me “to become a thing is to know a thing.” That turned out to be more literal than I had first assumed._

_So I now have both regained my shapeshifting and acquired a new understanding of how physiological processes can drive humanoid decisions -- a twofold boon for my work as security chief. This has already seen results._

_Yet I’m again alone in the crowd._

_Call it repayment for not writing you back_ [chuckle]. _Last week’s_ [mumbling] _follies as a solid made me realize that however much I yearn to once again connect with the Great Link, my true people are here on this station. It’s ironic. My form is made for linking with fellow changelings, yet who I most long to connect with are humanoids._

_I don’t wish to be anything other than myself as I am, and most aspects of being humanoid I am glad to be rid of, but I have to admit I miss some shared experiences. The nerve input from an unexpected brush with a passerby, the camaraderie of a satisfying meal with a friend, the heady soup of hormones and sensations when --_

[Long pause.]

_I don’t know what to do about Quark. That was the true impetus for writing to you. He and I, when I was solid, we --_

[Another pause.]

_Emotions were so much easier to decipher when they had physiological correlations._

[A rough grating chuckle.]

_No, that isn’t true._

_Never mind. I’m not sure what I was expecting this letter would accomplish. I find it just as difficult to divulge personal details of my life in written form as otherwise. I expect you will delete and disregard. Sorry to have wasted your time._

_Please continue to send holophotos of your son and updates on your life. I save them all in a special file, even if I have no idea what to say in response._

_Constable Odo of DS9_

\---

The best medicine for a broken heart is brainstorming for new ways to make latinum. The best medicine for anything, really, is latinum.

Or so Quark comforts himself, trying and failing to lull himself to sleep.

First he thought about his new suit in the works, going over in his mind every inch of shiny, colorful, glamorous design, but ‘retail therapy’ turned out to be as short-lived a distraction as drinking was. Then he started counting imaginary piles of latinum strips, but, as ever, inevitably his mind wanders back to Odo.

It’s been hours, and here he is still lying awake in bed. His empty, lonely bed, the bed where last week he and Odo --

Never mind that.

Quark admits defeat and gets up, rubbing his tired eyes. A few bitter curses under his breath, he plods over to the computer terminal. If he can’t sleep he may as well work. He spends the next few hours flipping through his holodex of contacts.

Say… He pauses with sudden inspiration. Sure, flirting with Garak while tipsy was a desperate attempt to fill his own empty bed and doomed from the start. But maybe a rebound _is_ just what he needs, someone to show him that maybe being with Odo wasn’t so singular an experience, that he should be grateful he’s not tied down, that he’s an eligible bachelor and still knows how to have fun. It’s time to widen the pool.

Quark goes over his holodex with renewed interest, sending out inquiries on products and requests to meet up.

Perhaps losing several of his best suppliers will be an opportunity for gain in more ways than one.

\---

_Security Log Stardate 49970.14_

_In light of our personal matters, I am avoiding Quark so as to help him avoid me. Or at least I avoid direct interaction -- covert surveillance continues as necessary on his activities and contacts. He is making that more challenging than usual, however. It’s all I can do to keep up with background checks on every new person he meets with while also spying on as many of those interactions as feasible._

_Assorted notes:_

_Glood (Bolian warehouse manager) -- regular holocalls allegedly about routine bar restocking._

  * _Illegal goods possibility?_
  * _Quark’s tone with him is entirely too familiar, joking and teasing and full of warmth_
  * _Quark is a known poor judge of character, grounds for further investigation._



_Vedek Shara (Bajoran) -- normal inquiries about hasperat variations_

  * _Gaze lingers too long on Quark._
  * _Something more there?_
  * _I don’t trust anyone that can stand to look at him that long._



_Rol (Tellerite freighter captain) -- customer_

  * _Placed hand on Quark’s forearm and snout close to ear, Quark leaned closer in_
  * _What secrets are between them?_
  * _Judging by the reactions of other humanoids, Rol’s scent is highly offensive, and thus Quark’s physical proximity must be with ulterior motives, possibly criminal._



_Lt. Glarna (Human) -- customer_

  * _Laughed loudly at Quark’s irritating banter while ordering synthale_
  * _Always smiling at him and he smiles back._
  * _Regular customer service? or angling for something?_
  * _Does not sit well with me -- a negative “gut” reaction, as humans say._



_Vix, Yndlor, Shawn, Donna, Kegas (all currently on station) -- The way they look at Quark like he’s a morsel they are waiting to devour, it’s perverse_ [entries dictated, deleted, dictated with rewording, deleted several times.]

 _I cannot_ [smack of a fist hitting a table] _I don’t_ [incomprehensible] -- _Quark is unpredictable and irrational at the best of times, but I do not understand his intentions. The way he is acting is beyond his normal business affairs. Are these_ [grumble] _‘flirtations’ to purposely aggravate me? To intentionally rub in my face how unremarkable our own relations were? Or solely to waste my time chasing him?_

 _It’s infuriating to realize how much of my daily life and emotional well-being was dependent on constant interactions with Quark, now that he wants nothing to do with me._ [Slamming sound]

 _I noted separate instances of Quark spending time alone with above individuals, in private quarters or on docked ships where I am by regulation barred from following, and therefore could not observe directly. Possible_ [clears throat] _intimate relations occurred. I can too vividly ~~remember what happened~~ imagine what _may _have happened behind closed doors. Quark cajoling them into oomox; the lack of care in the way they touch him and how they ~~don’t~~ wouldn’t know the exact caress needed to make him come undone; how they could never know Quark’s every gasp, twitch, and whine the way I do; how they don’t ache to be so physically close we might as well be Linking, to hold him as I_

[Abrupt pause.] _I did not expect to miss him on such a physical, visceral level, now that I don’t have physicality or ‘viscera’ to speak of._

[“Computer delete from ‘Possible’ onwards.”]

_It’s likely that he’s acting without any intention toward my reaction at all._

_Through these covert observations, I am reminded of how pathetic of a creature Quark is. He can’t keep that insufferable mouth of his shut or that slippery tongue to himself -- this gets him out of and into trouble in equal measure. He is so small next to most people he interacts with, like many Ferengi, and compared to anyone else Ferengi or not I am also aware of how physically inept he is -- any conflict that he cannot talk himself out of will end poorly... as it nearly has on so many occasions over the years. A riotous man, yet how small and vulnerable he always seemed while in my arms_ [“Computer…” Sigh. “Delete sentence.”]

_Thus, it is not just for station security that my surveillance continues, despite intentions to avoid him, but for Quark’s own safety. As a station resident he is my professional responsibility._

\---

“Ahh, excellent! _Verengan gagh, HIjah’?_” Kaga, the chef from the Klingon restaurant, sits across from Quark. His teeth flash handsomely in the light of the candle Quark has set at their dining table in his bar. Kaga takes a handful of tubeworms with his hand, gagh-style, and shoves them in his mouth with great pleasure.

Not for the first time that evening, Quark’s gaze slides over to a table across the bar where Odo and Kira are having dinner together. Or at least, Kira is having dinner, and Odo has ordered nothing, taking up space without payment as usual.

Quark hasn’t once caught Odo watching him back, to his great irritation.

“I appreciate a man with a hearty appetite. A nice change of pace,” Quark grumbles.

Kaga is too focused on reveling in the meal to notice Quark’s distractions. “ _majQa’!_”

“Happy to have someone appreciate my cuisine for once... A proper respect for worms and insects. Klingon and Ferengi have that in common.” Quark raises a forkful of tubeworms in a toast. “May this bridge the boundaries between Promenade competitors.”

Kaga toasts with his mug of bloodwine, drains it, then fills up his plate with another helping. “We are now _tochlIj_ of the Promenade!” A twinkle in his eye, he adds,“Perhaps I will serve this at my restaurant? We can have a mighty battle between chefs to woo customers, hah!”

Quark chuckles, somewhat nervously. “Now now, I didn’t invite you here to spar and certainly not to undercut my own profit. Quite the contrary!”

“It would be a friendly battle. A more fair fight than the physical kind.” Kaga eyes Quark up and down, a wandering assessment. He winks. “Lucky for you I am no fighter.”

“Then we’ll get along splendidly. I invited you here to show you how much we have in common. And how much we can gain from each other.”

“How generous. Ah, but I have already--”

An abrupt guffaw from Odo’s table redirects Quark’s attention. Quark frowns. Kira is laughing at something Odo said.

“Do you hear me, _tochlIj_ -chef?” Kaga says, glancing briefly over his shoulder to where Quark is looking. “I say that I might agree. Listen!”

“Hmmm? Yes, yes of course I’m listening.” Quark gestures automatically to his respectable-sized ears. “It’s my job to listen to people, to discover what they most desire… and provide it to them.”

Quark has spent the last week undoing the damage Odo did on both his business and his libido. He’s wined and dined possible suppliers, negotiated a few deals, and, on more occasions than perhaps prudent, turned those business meetings into foreplay.

Once he’s retreated with someone somewhere private, however, it never really gets too far. Sure, they make out a bit, some oomox with enough begging, maybe a hasty orgasm here or there, but that’s about it. No one fully undresses, no drawn out pleasure, certainly no threats of staying the night… In other words, no strings attached _fun_. That should be enough. It has been enough, for years past.

Instead it’s all so unsatisfying.

Not enough dick. That’s probably it. That has to be.

Which is why after years of shooting dirty looks across the Promenade at his fellow restaurateur, Quark invited Kaga to dinner. (That, and because he needs a financially stable business partner for the suppliers.)

“Ah ha. And you have something I desire perhaps, yes?” Kaga places a hand on Quark’s, gently and almost shyly for a Klingon. Quark starts in surprise -- did he not expect Kaga to respond to his advances so quickly? or did he subconsciously not want him to? -- but recovers.

“A contract I’m negotiating with a new supplier for live foods.” Quark puts on a coy smile, like he’s letting Kaga in on a secret. Flirting is a well-worn habit that Quark slips into without effort. “Among other things you may desire.”

“ _Dochvetlh vIneH!_” Kaga laughs heartily, showing chewed up bits of tubeworm between his teeth.

“And you have something I desire. Rumor has it you have double the fun, or so I hear. Redundant organs.”

Kaga smirks. “No one matches a Klingon for a good time. To make a partner scream in pleasure, there is no greater honor except the death of an enemy.”

“Oh excuse me, I misspoke. I meant double the _funds_. Redundant resources.” Quark mirrors Kaga’s smirk. “The supplier requires more collateral than I have liquid at the moment in order to establish a new supply chain. Your name came up specifically with several of my contacts, one even offered to pay for our dinner tonight if I’d consider partnering with you… Your reputation precedes you -- after all, you’ve managed to keep your business financially solvent even now during the Klingon-Federation War. No small feat.” Quark frowns. “How _have_ you managed that anyway?”

“You ask as a business partner, or as a competitor? Trade secret, perhaps.” Kaga grins, pointy-toothed and more slyly than Quark would have expected from him.

“No matter, as long as you’ve got the goods.” Quark gestures with open hands. Private investment or family wealth, most likely. That would figure. He drops his tone low, aiming for sultry. “But why don’t we continue this discussion in private. You can show me exactly what assets you have double of.” He flicks his eyes low, beneath the table. “If we are in the market for the same type of partnership here.”

Kaga guffaws with unrestrained exultation. "You, I like!"

Quark laughs along, not convinced that the overly jolly Klingon does in fact follow his innuendo, but then Kaga grabs his chin in a firm grip, tugging him forward across the table. Kaga hesitates, no longer laughing. Quark smizes his best “fuck me” expression in encouragement. Kaga runs his tongue over his own teeth, leering, predatory.

The kiss is prolonged and dirty, drawing the attention of unfortunate nearby bar-goers including (Quark hopes) one in particular. Both of them give it their all -- Kaga out of desire, Quark to prove something.

“Only one tongue. Hmm,” Quark says absently.

“Consider this a -- how would Ferengi say -- downpayment,” Kaga bellows jovially when they finally break away.

To Quark's surprise, despite the vigor of the encounter and the welcomeness of that strong hand, he feels… not much. Sure, not that he didn’t enjoy what was an objectively hot kiss. But ‘enjoy’ was hardly anything. The attractive, affable slab of masculinity in front of him should have his lobes burning with need, his dick aching for release, his heart pounding with desire. Bizarre… Quark’s own lack of interest has never been a limiting factor before.

Maybe, like a thin veneer of gold paint on a knockoff souvenir, rubbing off after being handled too much, the budding promise of erotic congress has lost its luster? Next thing he knows, an offered bar of latinum won’t have him titillated. Nagus forbid.

The sudden silence from Odo’s table filters through Quark’s ennui.

Quark rubbernecks past Kaga’s lustful gaze and catches sudden unexpected eye contact across the room. Odo’s wide-eyed stare, fixed on _Quark_ \-- for the first time all evening, for the first time in days. Just for a second, so short that in a moment Quark will assume he made it up, but for that second there’s a naked inscrutable expression blazon across Odo’s face -- judging Quark, perhaps? angry? heartbroken? or could he be _jealous?_ \-- and it sends a hot jolt through Quark, in a way that Kaga’s kiss hadn’t.

It strikes Quark how _none_ of his many recent flirtations -- all of which Odo ignored, just as he ignored Quark himself these days -- have affected him half as much as this one unguarded, fleeting, possibly imaginary glance.

Quark blinks, and now Odo is nodding along to something Kira’s saying with undivided attention. She’s touching him on the shoulder, affectionate and familiar. Odo doesn’t glance Quark’s way again, if he ever did.

Likely Quark hasn’t even crossed his mind. It's all Quark's own delusions.

Quark blinks against the sudden stinging in his eyes.

“Quark,” Kaga says, breathing still elevated from the kiss. His hand is on Quark’s again, warm with body heat. Functional lungs, functional pumping heart. “You appear with illness. Perhaps the tubeworms were not quality after all?”

“There’s a difference between real and fake, isn’t there.” Quark says with enough abrupt bitterness that Kaga’s good humor dims for the first time all evening. “Pretending that a tubeworm replicated from constituent parts, mimicking its form for all intents and purposes, that this could ever approach the reality of a live wiggling organism. You close your eyes, and it tastes the same, but once you're told it's a trick, an imitation to play on what you really desire, well. You know the difference."

Incredible sex with Odo only to be ditched like day-old hasperat, versus an attempted rebound with Kaga right now -- which of these is the real relationship and which the fake?

Kaga shrugs. He strokes Quark's hand. "Both nourish the body, but no not the same. When you know it is life you are crushing beneath your teeth, this nourishes the soul."

Maybe sex with Odo-as-changeling wouldn’t even be that good. A big, hard-to-imagine maybe, but...

If Odo were at all jealous on some hidden level, then the only practical choice is to throw that in his face, maybe even date Kaga seriously, make Odo as miserable as Quark feels about all this. However, if Odo were in fact as indifferent to Quark’s romantic life as he acts, then good riddance and Quark might as well sleep with anyone who will have him and nothing matters anyway. Win-win... or maybe it’s lose-lose, but even odds nonetheless.

“Never mind, I'm feeling great. Let’s get out of here.” Quark stands up, hand outstretched to Kaga. “I showed you my tubeworms, time for you to show me yours.”

“'’ _IwlIj jachjaj!_” Kaga takes his hand with a big grin, and they walk out together.

\---

_Security Log Stardate 49970.30_

_Captain Sisko has repeatedly denied my requests for additional security measures surrounding Quark, so I have been tailing him on my own initiative._

_New evidence came to light however that ties together the motives of many of Quark’s latest liaisons. Stakeout with extra staff tonight is approved_.

_Update to follow._

\---

After the bar, they had gone to the Klingon restaurant. Kaga took the “show me your worms” quip somewhat literally at first, so they slurped up sweet baby gagh as a dessert. At one point by happenstance both of them started at either end of the same worm, long slow eye contact as they closed in on each other, meeting in the center for a toothy kiss. A waiter serenaded them with Kaga’s accordion (there were no customers left), while Kaga lazily stroked Quark’s ear. Then, once Kaga closed the doors for the evening and dismissed his staff, he and Quark tumbled into the adjoining storage room together, lips locked and tearing off clothes with vigor. They fell asleep together afterwards, between the vats of racht and gladst and pious claws, hazy and sated, the two of them piled atop each other like grublings on the tiny fold-out cot Kaga kept there for day naps.

It was hot, it was sweet, it was fun, it was romantic. There was an easy camaraderie between them, a lack of baggage and openness of things to come. They even talked about finances and the restaurant business for a while, a Ferengi aphrodisiac for sure. It was everything a good date could be.

Or it should have been.

Quark went through all the motions, but at every turn couldn’t help but note what this evening would have been like with Odo. How he would have scoffed at Quark’s sly comments instead of laughing, how he wouldn’t have shared in the tubeworms or gagh or perhaps even the accordion music, the rough gravel of his snores as compared to Kaga’s low rumble. Though Quark supposes Odo doesn’t snore anymore, now that he no longer sleeps.

As Quark yanks on wrinkled clothing in these wistful dark hours, he realizes he feels empty. He feels alone.

Kaga, generous good nature and double dicks, with his zest for life and deep pocketbook, will never be enough.

No one will be enough for Quark.

Because no one else is Odo, simple as that. Quark misses him. Not just the sex or the orgasms or even that incredible cock, but Odo himself. It’s as definitive a fact as the negative balance in Quark’s bank account, except that the Odo-shaped hole in his heart doesn’t accept loans.

Only Quark could manage to be this miserable even in the midst of a promising business venture, even after a night of what would otherwise be great sex and a new relationship.

Then, from outside the depths of his wallowing self-pity, he hears something. Distant footsteps, muffled whispers. He freezes, flexing his ear muscles to hone in on any context.

“Kaga!” Quark croaks, shoving at the large and hopefully intimidating Klingon. “Wake up, someone’s breaking in.”

“nuqjatlh, is nothing,” Kaga mutters groggily. He gives a particularly loud snarl of a snore, flops over onto his side, and falls immediately back to sleep.

Fully panicking as Quark hears the distinct beeps of a hacking code at the main door, he shoves frantically at him, but it makes no impact on the immovable, snoring Klingon.

Shuffling feet and shifting furniture, more harried whispers. Quark desperately squints in the dim safety lighting of the storage room, searching for an air vent to escape, an empty barrel to hide in, any luxury goods to use as bribes.

A silhouetted mass of intruders bursts into the storage room. Quark dives behind the cot to cower. He hopes Kaga’s bare ass facing the entry will act as a diversion.

“Hey! Oh shit he sleeps here.”

“You said the Klingon be elsewhere; we’ve waited all week.”

“ _Shhh_ , lower your voices and help me look. Quietly!”

Some of those voices are familiar, but he can't quite figure out where he knows them from… Quark gasps, and the noise attracts a flashlight in his eyes. He blinks against the light. Three faces come into focus... as do the phaser guns in each of their hands.

“Yndlor? Vix? Degas?” Quark whimpers. It’s several of the potential suppliers he’d met to arrange deals with recently. He joins his wrists in Ferengi submission, a shaky grin on his face. “Funny running into each other here! Good to see you as always, but -- you never saw me, and I never saw you. (wink) I assume we’re still on for lunch negotiations tomorrow! Well, good night...”

He makes an attempt to slip by, but Yndlor picks him up by the collar and slams him against a large metal vat. “You! You backstabbing vermin, you were supposed to distract Kaga tonight. That was the deal!”

“Oh, I, uh. We had dinner, as you suggested, we talked about partnering to buy regular shipments from you, as you implied you --”

“A business partnership? _That’s_ what you call this?!” Yndlor winces as he makes the mistake of glancing towards Kaga’s bare ass. Quark winces as the sharp rim of the vat digs harder into his neck. “I didn’t care what you two discussed, or did, as long as you took him back to your quarters. Or anywhere _not here_.”

“Why would you --? Okay okay, fine I suppose I misunderstood. Listen, I don’t need to know all the details of whatever you’re doing here, as long as you give me a cut, but he sleeps like the barge of the dead, so I’m sure --”

“We don’t need your _excuses._ ”

Quark yelps, loudly, as Yndlor jams the cold metal of a phaser into his forehead lobe. Not the first guy he’s given a blowjob to who’s done that, but still never pleasant. “Please, _please_ , we had fun together right? I can help you.”

“qaStaH nuq jay’!”Kaga awakes with a roar, jerking up to a seated position and baring his full glory. After a quick assessment of the situation, however, he raises his hands in surrender bearing an apologetic grin. “Ah! Friends. You are here for a midnight snack perhaps, yes?”

Yndlor swivels his gun to Kaga, but keeps his other hand fisted in the collar of Quark’s shirt. With a grimace, Vix tosses Kaga’s discarded shirt onto his exposed lap.

“We’d love some,” Degas says darkly. “Maybe this one?” He scoops a fistful of gladst out of one vat and throws the fermented mushrooms into a splat on the floor. “Guess not.”

Kaga’s grin fades. He darts a worried glance to the gun, then to Quark, then to a box out of reach. “I am a chef, a warrior of the kitchen not the battlefield. I have no trouble with you, but _if you do not cease_ I will be forced to defend my honor --”

“Shut up, you snivelling outcast. You’re outmatched -- phaser beats fist and I don’t see any bat-leths or butcher knives. I don’t even see your pants,” Degas says.

Yndlor says, “And we know about your deal with Grippor. We know you’ve been smuggling priceless crystals from Bajor through her, hidden in those disgusting barrels of writhing creatures. Smart way to sneak past Federation customs. But now that Grippor’s no longer in the picture, and you’re stuck with them… we decided those crystals need, heh, liberating.”

No wonder Kaga’s restaurant managed to stay open, despite how the war must have soured appetites for Klingon food. Quark has a newfound respect for him. Who knew he had a streak of deviousness. Except, wait a second --

Quark scowls. “She never smuggled goods through me! I could have used some extra cash flow, and Grippor should know I’m always amenable to ah bending the law, for the right price --”

“Probably she didn’t trust you,” sneers Vix, training his phaser back on Quark, who quickly shuts up again.

“No wonder, since you were so easily duped into believing we had ‘unbelievably good deals’ for someone like you with such poor credit, instead of a crime syndicate,” mutters Degas. “The right price, indeed.”

“Was that -- I think I hear security coming.” Quark cocks his head in mock concern, gesturing to his oversized ears. “Run now, save yourselves!”

Not a complete lie: he does hear a faint gurgle that could pass as Odo, but it’s more likely the racht flopping around in their juices. Or Quark’s own anxious gurgling stomach.

“The security you were quick to assure us doesn’t pay attention to you anymore? Doubtful.”

Quark’s stomach drops. He’s gotten so used to Odo (figuratively) breathing down his neck, hunting his every move, that he almost forgot it’s a long shot that Odo’ll reveal that he was a jar on the shelf all along, spying on Quark as usual. This was of course also why Quark had been so enterprising lately, putting out feelers for deals he might otherwise pass up, but just his luck.

Yndlor jerks Quark over the rim of the vat, so that his face is inches from the mass of wiggling gagh. “You want to help, Quark? Here, you can search for our crystals.”

Trust Odo to choose _now_ to abandon him. Quark feels truly scared in a way he hasn’t for some time.

Yndlor plunges Quark’s head into the vat. Quark yells in protest and ends up with a mouth full of irritated worms for his effort. They slither over his face, up his nose, into his ears. Does this variety have spikes or -- oh right, that must be the hidden crystals. Quark thrashes against Yndlor as he holds him down, gagging on the gagh writhing down his throat.

Good flavor, he thinks distantly, but not a great source of oxygen.

Distant commotion reverberates outside the vat, yelling and clattering and _blessed exchequer_ was that phaser fire?

Yndlor’s grip on Quark’s arm breaks contact. But before Quark can react, he’s hauling Quark back out of the vat -- no doubt for a worse fate.

He’s yelling Quark’s name and shaking him and Quark doesn’t think it’s Yndlor anymore. Quark wipes gagh vicersa out of his eyes, out of his ears. He staggers and the person holds him upright.

“Huh? What?” Quark yells back. Or tries to, but spits out chunks of gagh fragments instead. He pulls out a particularly long worm that seems to have wriggled halfway down to his stomach. He heaves a couple times, and it turns into a coughing fit.

The someone is pounding his back, still yelling. “Quark, are you alright? Quark!”

Quark finally comes to enough to complain. “Stop _hitting_ me, what’s your deal --” but when he looks up at his new captor he’s staring into Odo’s troubled face.

Quark’s knees buckle.

Odo supports him.

“Get yourself together,” Odo grumbles, but his eyes scan Quark for further injury.

“You _came_ ,” Quark says in awe, hand fluttering to his chest. “You saved me. Took you long enough, but I guess late is better than never.”

“ _Of course_. Of course I --” Odo hesitates, a few wrinkles appearing in his forehead as it knits together. He shakes his head as if ridding himself of something.

“How long were you here?!”

“Long enough to hear confessions, I followed them into the restaurant and --”

“Were you one of the jars on that shelf?” Quark squints, trying to remember how many were there before. “Or an extra targ leg in that corner?” Quark’s eyes widen. “Have you been stalking me this whole time?”

“I was just doing my job,” Odo snaps. “I’m here to arrest the crime syndicate you so graciously invited to this station.”

“Believe me, I was just as surprised as you to learn their real plans --”

“And now that you’ve recovered, I’ll also be arresting you for conspiracy to aid in robbery. You did offer to help steal the crystals, get in on the deal.”

“But! But! Well, you could have at least done mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, then I’d get something out of this...”

Despite Quark’s protests he’s almost cheerful as Odo drags him out of the restaurant, past security officers detaining the others, past Kaga’s slumped shoulders, and on to the station jail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore the Klingon chef, who only has a name in beta canon. Those two scenes you were in on the show rocked. I do feel kinda bad for his role in this fic, because I feel like he deserves good things (like not to end up as a humiliated smuggler heh). I’ll be imagining a happier ending for him off the page.
> 
> All the Klingon words are canon, at least according to the random sites I found them on. The HTML to make the hover translation was a real bitch to figure out... please let me know if you can't read it.


	3. make up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completed posting “What is this Feeling…?” three years ago _to this day._ I had really intended to finish this sequel like, four months ago, but I'm tickled that it worked out to post on the "fic-iversary" instead.

_Security Log Stardate 49970.31_

_The three criminals have been detained, caught in the act last night. They face charges of attempted theft, bribery, and impersonation. They have been extradited to their home planet for diplomatic reasons, but I am assured that justice will be served. Chef Kaga, by Captain Sisko’s insistence, will be tried on Bajor for smuggling and not sent back to Qo’nos. The assigned Arbiter is partial to Kaga’s racht preparation, so I expect he’ll get off with nothing more than planetside community work and loss of reputation. An insult to the judicial code, but no one asked me._

_Tonight security staff are continuing to root out additional co-conspirators, while I file the report and oversee the jail. Quark is sentenced to two days confinement: for causing this mess and for his own safety while we assure station security. He, as to be expected, does not see this as a fair arrangement --_

[“Odo! Hey Odo!”

Beep of outgoing intercom button. “I can hear you, Quark, and I can see you on the viewscreen. No need to yell and jump up and down.”

“Well you weren’t responding. Is there a better pillow? This one is giving me a cramp in my neck.”

“I have work to do. You’ve complained about the pitch of your allotted sonic shower, the humidity of the air flow, the temperature of your glass of water. Now the bedding. You are in a _jail cell_ Quark, not the Risan Embassy Suites. _Go to sleep_.”

Prolonged exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”]

 _I expected this to be more satisfying. After all, he’s paying for his transgressions, he’s interrupted from_ [growl] _dating around as he has been, and he’s safe and under my watchful eye. Perhaps in my avoidance I forgot how stupendously annoying he is._

_Absence is a fickle mistress that hoodwinks the heart into growing fonder, ignoring all the most egregious faults of its target_

[“Odo! Hey! You still there?”

Beep of intercom. “You know I’m here. I’m on overnight duty, because of you. The officer from last night refused to do it again.”

“Odo seriously, how much work can you have right now? Isn’t it more fun to talk to me?”

“Save it Quark. I already have your statement. If you don’t shut up, I will cut the speaker system --”

“Security handbook regulation blah blah blah: when an attendant is not on duty in the jail room, audiovisual surveillance must remain on in the main office.”

“I’ll be filing for an amendment.” Pause. “You know, those eye bags of yours have been particularly pronounced lately. I’d think you’d jump at the chance to get some uninterrupted shut eye for once.”

“What! They are?” Slap of hand on skin. “Smek’s Sleepeye Snail Serum costs way too many strips to be a scam…”

Chuckle.

“And whose fault is my lack of sleep anyway, hmm? You know very well why I haven’t been sleeping, and as long as I’m in this jail cell and you’re on the other end, you’re going to be stuck listening to me, so trust me I will take full advantage --”]

_Perhaps I don’t mind all that much. Arguing like this feels like the universe making sense again. However, our interactions tonight will make it more difficult for me when I have to release him, and he inevitably resumes his frenzied dating life again._

_He’s always been so aggravating, vexatious, bothersome... But this also makes him impossible to ignore._

[Sound of leather soles hitting rhythmically against a cell wall.

“You’re going to scuff your boots doing that, Quark. Aren’t those the genuine targ hide by designer Cha’Nel that you bragged about for a month straight? Don't make me confiscate them.”

“They’re out of fashion now anyway. I can do this all night.”

Hitting noise continues.

Sigh.]

_Signing off -- will likely spend remainder of night at the jail._

\---

Quark perks up as Odo stomps into the jail room. Odo may be acting exasperated at Quark’s antics, but more important is the fact that he’s not ignoring him anymore.

“Got lonely in that office all by yourself?”

“I didn’t have the pleasure.”

“What a shame. I can only imagine the stimulating evening you’re missing out on right now: filing reports, organizing security logs, coordinating staff schedules… It’s a wonder there’s no holoprogram where the average citizen can roleplay such tantalizing tasks.”

“I certainly didn't miss this!” Odo guffaws.

This all feels so much like old times that Quark can’t help but snicker in response, a lapse into old patterns of behavior. Like slipping on a well-fitted set of coat tails, wondering why he doesn’t wear it anymore and forgetting the swath of bloodwine staining the jacket front.

Quark goes quiet. “Don't you? Don’t you miss us?”

Quark has several cutting remarks ready to counter Odo’s inevitable denial, ready to prolong the fun of the banter even if (especially if) Odo spends the whole night insulting him, when, in a rough low voice, Odo says, “Of course.”

The rumble of those words goes straight to Quark’s lobes. He shivers. “I thought we really had something there. Maybe you want to pretend it never happened, but I know what it was.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

Quark inhales deeply, gathering his courage before it leaves him. “What we had was--”

“Humanoid sex?” Odo says wryly at the same time that Quark breathes out, “ _Romance_.”

Odo blinks several times. Why does he do that? Quark wonders. He doesn’t need to blink, but he does anyway.

“Oh,” Odo says. He looks completely thrown off. “Oh.”

“I mean of course, great sex. That’s all it was. I was making sure you knew.” Quark quickly backtracks. Maybe it will hurt to go back to friends (or nemeses with a sense of mutual respect, or rivals, or whatever they were), to pretend he’s not desperately hopelessly in love, but it hurts worse to not have Odo as part of his life. “I mean I can find better cocks anywhere. But there’s only one uptight stick in the mud that can help me hone the deviousness of my craft.”

Odo snorts. “Is that so?”

Quark shrugs. “I miss talking with you. Messing with you.”

“I never wanted to stop,” Odo says. He grasps his hands behind his back, awkward again. There’s a slight hunch in his shoulders that pains Quark to notice. “I assumed you wanted distance.”

“Uh huh. When have I wanted distance from anyone? I make my living off being on good terms with everyone possible; bad business practice to alienate potential customers.”

Quark expects a snort from Odo at that, but he only looks pensive.

“It means you can insult me like you used to,” Quark says, trying to be encouraging, “even though you don’t want to have sex with me anymore.”

“You don’t want to, with _me_ ,” Odo states, looking at Quark like he has grown a third ear. “Remember - my ‘shapeshifting ruined everything?’ I no longer have a body. Not the way you want it.”

Now it’s Quark’s turn to blink with incredulity. “ _What are you talking about?_ Of course I want your body! Freakazoid as it is. I mean, it can be ANY body, that’s reason enough.” It’s _you_ is the main reason but Quark doesn’t say that.

“I thought you wanted someone more like you,” Odo says, staring at Quark, like he’s expecting Quark to know what that even means. “A full set of organs.”

“Is that some kind of joke?” Quark says, but Odo looks deadly serious. He doesn’t know what Odo’s ploy is here. “Have you met me? I'll fuck anyone, _of course_ I want whatever weird goo thing you’ve got going on. I once had an affair with a Horta. Don't even ask about their organs. When have I ever dated anyone that’s ‘like me’?”

A slow sly smile curves onto Odo’s face, like he knows something Quark doesn’t.

“What?” Quark says, suddenly insecure. “You're going to say something mean now aren't you? Well, you'll have to choose between being disgusted at me or jealous of the Horta, but you can't do both.”

That smile still hasn’t left Odo’s face, and he must be teasing Quark somehow. “But you were never attracted to me before I became humanoid.”

Quark reassesses ten years of interactions and rejections from Odo in an instant. “That's not true. I think you're incredibly…” Quark waves a hand, not wanting to inflate Odo’s head too much by specifying. He can feel his cheeks heat up. “You know. Most people may disagree, but I think you’re… You're not bad. Even in the face.”

“You’ve never _shown_ attraction to me before. Not like with Kaga.” The smile breaks long enough for Odo to spit out the name with no small bitterness, which Quark is pleased to note.

“That's ALL I've tried to do.”

Odo peers at him like he’s a corpse next to a bloody candlestick in a parlor, but the murderer is nowhere to be found.

“You loom over me, I lean in closer.” Quark speaks slowly, like he’s trying to explain the concept of profit to a hewmon for the millionth time. “I smile and make eye contact and shoot come hither looks--”

“Is that what those are.”

“You growl at me and I tilt my ear to let the sound vibrate through my lobes.”

“Hmph.”

Quark shrugs. “You haul me away to a jail cell, I let you.”

“Not that you have a choice.”

“Every interaction I've ever had with you is me telling you I want you. Romantically.” Quark, now emboldened, adds, “ _Carnally_.”

Odo starts to laugh. An ugly rough chortle.

“What? I don’t see what’s so funny.”

But Odo doesn’t explain. His stupid smug face. He was probably trying to trick Quark into confessing.

“You're the one who told me you don't need me now that you're a shapeshifter again,” Quark continues, a whine creeping into his voice. “You're the one who so rudely decided it was time to throw me back into the replicator for reclamation, like your protein shakes and your bed and drinks from the bar and and and --” Quark’s lip starts to wobble, and he bites down on it.

Odo seems to be caught in a fit of hysterics however, and chuckles harder, low and gravelly in a way that’s maddening to Quark.

“Amused at my poor blue lobes, hung out to dry. You know if you're just going to laugh at me while I open up to you, at least tell me what you find so hilarious. I'd at least like to know why my very real and heartbreaking situation is so comical to you.”

“Quark,” Odo manages to say in between guffaws, his smile wide as it cracks his smooth face.

“If I told all that to Morn he'd be crying on my behalf by now,” Quark pouts. “Some people have a shred of empathy.”

Odo calms down finally. A slight smile still tugs at his lips, but his tone is serious, imploring even, when he says, “You’re right. I don’t _need_ you anymore. Probably I never did.”

“Fine, I already knew that,” Quark huffs.

“No, Quark. Do you remember before I bought you the slug juice that first time? What you said to me?”

Quark nods, but he doesn’t like the direction this is taking.

“You said ‘I thought I could finally be what you wanted.’”

“ _Have_ what you want. As a bartender,” Quark corrects automatically. His heart thuds in his chest. “I was trying to sell you drinks.”

“Quark. I don’t need to drink, and I don’t need sexual gratification, and I don’t need you --”

“I KNOW!” Quark outbursts. “So you’ve said! Again and again --”

“But I.” Odo swallows, even though he doesn’t have spit. Quark still doesn’t get it. “But I _want_ you. You are what I want.”

“Carnally?” Quark cocks his head.

Odo hesitates. “Maybe, I think so.” He grunts. “I don’t know. But I want to find out. And I want you regardless.”

Quark had been all puffed up, ready to shout and wail at Odo again, but at that he slams his mouth shut.

“If _that’s_ all it took to stop your endless yapping, I should have figured it out years ago,” Odo teases.

Quark tries again. Open, close. Nothing. He can’t think of a single thing to say, worthwhile or not.

Odo has that obnoxious smile of his still, smug as always at catching Quark wrong-footed.

Quark can’t allow that. He does the only thing he can think of to wipe that smile off Odo’s face.

He closes his eyes, puckers his lips, leans forward, and --

Meets his lips to a hard, invisible surface. “OW!”

Odo lets out a fond chuckle. “You’re still in jail, Quark.”

“Well? Prove it!” Quark half-yells, panicking a little.

“I would have thought the forcefield was proof enough.”

“If you really do want me, or want to try to want me, or whatever it was, then _prove it_.”

“Ah.” Odo lowers the forcefield, but neither of them make a move further. Is this a bluff? A double bluff?

Quark can’t catch his breath. He narrows his eyes. “That’s what I thought. You -- you were never attracted to me before all this. You’re not capable of it. I’m not -- anything you’d want.” Quark regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth. Rule #85, Never let the enemy know what you're thinking.

“Are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“No, no.” Quark throws his hands up. “Unless it’s an elaborate trap, to get me to bare my heart just so you can have the satisfaction of duping me.”

“And what if it is.” Odo cups Quark’s face with two hands. Quark doesn’t have time to register what’s happening before Odo lays one on him. A loud smack of a kiss, like he just can’t help it.

A buzzing elation arcs through Quark’s lips to his lobes right down to his toes. He has to reach out to the cell wall for balance. Oh, he _missed_ this alright.

Does it even matter that seconds ago Quark was feeling mad and hurt and betrayed? That he’s still not quite sure if Odo is using him, that this might still be part of the game?

Quark decides it doesn’t. Funny how a good kiss can make any worry evaporate.

A little dizzy, Quark says, “I suppose I don’t mind if it’s a ploy. I suppose I’ll assume you're very very stubborn, and you can’t appreciate what you’re missing out on, and you’ll come around to me regardless.”

“Hmph.” Odo hesitates. He’s still holding Quark’s face in his hands. His thumb strokes at Quark’s cheek, seemingly of its own accord. “Perhaps it’s that you’re a difficult person to admit to loving.”

Quark has the vague sense that he should be insulted, but all he can think about is Odo kissing him again. “Who doesn’t like a challenge?”

“Only to admit it. The act itself is…” Odo sighs, “unavoidable, try as I might.”

And Quark’s heart sings -- _love_.

Odo kisses him again, slow and careful this time.

It’s exactly like Quark remembers. Sure, Odo doesn’t have the same body heat as he used to, or the wetness of saliva, or all the same internal textures in his mouth, but Quark barely notices any of that.

When Odo was a solid, every kiss felt like an admission of what they never say, like a declaration of the sentiment lying thick between the lines of their every interaction, like a promise of more to come. Every kiss had meant something, or so Quark had thought at the time.

And, unlike the difference in physical detail, those aspects haven’t changed at all with Odo’s newly shapeshifted mouth. Quark’s libido isn’t broken. Quark didn’t make it up. Rather, none of the other kisses ever had a chance. He didn’t make any of his and Odo’s magnetism up.

Odo pulls away, reluctantly. “Well?”

“Great. Uh.” Quark tries to think what’s next, but his mind is curiously blank.

Odo’s hands move from Quark’s face down to his shoulders, as if he doesn’t want to lose contact, doesn’t want to stop touching him. Quark hopes he never will.

“Now that we’ve got that all sorted, how about we get out of here? If you know what I mean.” Quark grazes his lobe with a finger. “We can find out what exactly it is you want from me. Hmm?”

“There’s still a day left on your sentence.” Odo pats Quark’s shoulder in consolation. “I’ve bent the rules enough letting down the wall.”

“After everything we just said to each other, you’re still going to leave me in here to _rot?_ ” Quark’s lip is in full pout. Odo’s eyes flick to it.

“Perhaps… I could accompany you outside the cell. As a security escort. Only for a few hours."

Quark wastes no time scrambling out.

Odo catches him by the elbow as he brushes past him. “Now hold up!”

“You can’t take it back -- oh.” Quark’s protests die on his tongue as Odo slips his hand into Quark’s.

“I have to ensure you don’t make a break for it.”

“Not even on my good word, hmph.” There’s a warmth spreading in Quark’s chest. It doesn't diminish even when Odo shifts handcuffs to keep them connected. If anything, the warmth rushes to his lobes. “Where to, your place or mine?”

“Perhaps instead we should… do an activity together.”

“That’s what I’m talking about too.” Quark waggles his browridge. “Oomox is an activity.”

Odo frowns. “I wasn’t referring to making love.”

“Making _what_?” Quark shudders. “That’s disgusting. Did you learn that phrase from the hewmons? At least use something respectable like ‘making the beast with two backs’ or ‘doing the horizontal tango.’ I’ve never _made love_ \--” He shudders again. “--in my life and I don’t intend to now.”

Odo scowls. “I don’t want to be like those hooligans that pass through the revolving door of your bedroom, each of you using the other’s body for a quick ‘tango’ (whatever crass act a ‘tango’ is) without knowing anything about each other. Like which one of you is part of a crime syndicate. I don’t see the point.”

“You and me know each other better than anyone! Unfortunately. And we do lots of stuff together -- you spend half the day lurking around my bar, or you used to. As far as tonight goes, maybe it’s not a traditional date of dinner-and-a-holoprogram, but you arresting me and me spending a day in your jail counts as an ‘activity’ I’d say.” Quark rolls his eyes. “Although, I seem to recall not that long ago a new humanoid driven by his beastly urges --”

“No.” Odo squeezes Quark’s hand. He smirks, that smug expression that says he knows exactly how annoyed Quark will be at what he says next, and that it already amuses him. “I’ve only ever made love.”

“Blech.” Quark gags, but not even that can damper his smile. “I don’t believe you.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to demonstrate.”

\---

Back in his quarters, Quark grabs greedily at Odo’s Bajoran militia trousers. “Let’s get this hideous thing off you… Oh right.” He gets as far as the waistband before he remembers it’s not a separate piece from Odo’s body. “The shapeshifting.”

“Yes, Quark, the shapeshifting,” Odo says sarcastically. “Or have you already forgotten in your lustful stupor that that’s what got us into this whole mess?”

“That’s what got _you_ into this mess; I’ve been the same the whole time,” Quark grumbles. He settles for groping at the front of Odo’s pants. “There’s nothing there!”

Odo rolls his eyes. “Remember, the --”

“The shapeshifting,” They both say in sync.

Quark sighs. “I know you can’t do faces, but excuuuuse me for assuming you would take pride in the imitation of the rest of the body. Especially since, you know…” Quark gestures. “You’ve had direct experience having an _actual_ humanoid form. Including all the relevant and delectable parts of it.” He licks his lips, eyeing Odo’s crotch.

“Relevant to _you_.”

“Who else? All of you is relevant to me.” Quark cringes at the accidental sincerity as soon as it leaves his mouth.

Odo blinks in response.

“But some parts more than others,” he adds. That’s more like it.

“I’ve been told humanoids can make due _without_ using oversized protruding sex organs for the act of physical copulation,” Odo says dryly.

“Well sure, but should they have to? Especially when it’d be so easy for you to recreate your human dick--”

“I don’t want to.”

Quark finally looks up from the crotch.

“It was unwieldy, and it felt ridiculous. Another joke from the Founders.” Odo folds his arms across his chest in a huff. “I’m not in _their_ body anymore, and I don’t want to be.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt that way?”

“What do you think I’m doing now --?!” Odo says, both exasperated and embarrassed.

“Because I have catalogues of non-human dicks and dick-like approximations you could shift. A wealth of genitalia that might suit you better.” Quark takes out a PADD from his desk listing various holosuite programs. He created it a while back in preparation for just such a conversation.

“Why do I need to shift anything? Why can’t you just stick it in? Just stick it wherever?”

Quark scoffs with offense. “‘ _Stick it in?’_ Wow you really know how to seduce a guy don’t you. Unbelievable. You’re lucky I put up with you.” He flips through the PADD with growing excitement. “With your newly recovered abilities you could try the five-pronged _t’shlifk_ of the Andorians, or bulbous Bolian _glot_ , or the glorious tentacles of the --''

Quark interrupts himself with a yelp and a whine.

“What about this?” Odo cocks his head with fake innocence. His hand rests firmly on the front of Quark’s pants. The organ hardens under his touch.

“Um.” Quark gulps. “I already have one.”

“I think,” Odo says with a growing smug grin, “that this is enough to start with.”

“Oh--okay.” Quark shudders as Odo starts to stroke. “Sure, sure. Yeah.”

“I’ve done my own research. Perhaps I’d like to--” Odo becomes momentarily awkward, pausing.

“What? Anything, what?” Quark babbles.

Odo clears his throat. “I’d like to try one of the other main variations. The internal kind. They seem much more efficient, neater. I think it would suit me better.” He waits for Quark’s response.

Quark is more focused on rubbing against Odo’s hand. He whines.

“Don’t you agree?” Odo prompts him.

“Yeah, sure, of course.” As long as Odo’s hand doesn’t stop again, Quark’s fine with anything.

With a growing sense of urgency between them, Odo peels the layers off Quark. Quark chides Odo at several points for not taking enough care with all the clasps and buttons, but Odo removes various obstacles until Quark is naked and exposed as a grubworm.

His cock pops up from his fleshy folds like a toadstool after a good rain. Hard, aching. Boy he missed this.

“Hmph,” Odo says with a fond smile.

“Hnnnng,” Quark whines.

Odo releases Quark’s cock to grip his lobes, pulling him into a long deep kiss. He pulls Quark on top of him to make out lying down.

“I’m not going anywhere, slow down.” Odo chuckles holding Quark tighter. Quark realizes he’s been rucking against Odo, humping his hip with all the desperation of a starving man gobbling down a meal fast enough to choke himself.

“It’s been days, Odo _, days_. Weeks even.”

“You’ve --” Odo’s face tightens. “It's not like you've been lacking for company recently.”

“Who, the backstabbers? Kaga? No one else counts, no one else ever did. We’re stuck with each other now okay. So? What’s the hold up? Take off your pants.”

“Quark,” Odo says in a mocking tone. “Remember, the--”

“The shapeshifting, sure, so shapeshift yourself out of this ugly uniform.”

Odo makes a sound like he’s clearing his throat. “If you were paying attention, you’d notice I’ve done all the shapeshifting I need to.”

“Did you?” Quark cocks his head in confusion. “Um.”

He fumbles for a moment on top of Odo. If Odo had real organs, Quark would have accidentally elbowed him in the stomach and perhaps several intestines. Quark gropes around roughly to figure out what’s between Odo’s legs.

“It’s a good thing I can’t maintain nerve endings very long yet, with the way you’re pawing at me down there.” Odo grumbles. “I shifted it to be fairly standard for a human; I assumed you’d be familiar.”

“You’re still wearing your pants and everything feels like cloth then suddenly -- vagina!” Quark can't stop looking at it. If his cock was hard before, it's titanium alloy now. "Trust you to find the least sexy way to do this.”

Odo chuckles meanly. He seems to find Quark's reaction hilarious.

"You choose the oddest times to sprout a sense of humor, Odo."

"If you can't handle this, I can close my pants back up like a wave of Garak's sonic seam stitcher..."

"No! It’s fine, it’s good.” There's no way Quark's going to discourage any sexual experimentation from Odo, no matter how bizarre. Maybe especially then. He remains disturbingly aroused. “Don’t blame me for not knowing what to expect.”

“Well?”

Quark crouches over Odo to take a closer look. “Is it supposed to be the same color as your uniform? Or all those little hairs everywhere? And -- oh! Shapeshift a clitoris! Do that, that one’s important.”

“I did,” Odo says, looking unsure for a moment. No doubt he's sensitive about his shapeshifting prowess.

"So you did," Quark quickly exclaims. "I must have been thinking Bajoran instead of human.” Quark pokes at him, fascinated. He licks his lips. “Do you want me to lick it or stroke it or --? Right, no nerves.”

“Another time, after more practice perhaps. For now, you can ‘stick it in’. There’s lubrication in my pocket.”

“What a romantic.” Quark explores further in Odo. “It’s in your…?”

“Is this what it felt like when I had my fingers inside you?” Odo says. “Strange.”

“Uh, I don’t feel it.”

“The lube is in my _pants_ pocket, Quark. In a jar. Like we used on you,” Odo says exasperatedly. “Wetness isn’t something I can shift.”

“Oh! That pocket.” Quark retrieves the jar. He lathers himself up and applies a generous amount to Odo.

Quark climbs back on Odo and somewhat delicately inserts himself.

“How’s this?” he says, panting.

“Are you just going to lie there on top of me?"

"I was just -- well you don’t have to be rude.” Quark thrusts several times, then flounders. Odo tries to match his rhythm but it’s awkward.

“Is that all? Everything we went through, for this?”

“We didn’t have to do it like this, I'm in the position where _you_ put me,” Quark snaps. He feels a mild hysteria building in him. He tries again, but his cock starts to soften.

“Sorry it’s not as realistic as your disgusting holoprograms --”

“Holoprograms aren’t meant to be realistic, but that's not...” Quark gripes, a thin note of panic in his voice. “It’s -- I never have this problem -- I never -- well, usually the other person...”

“Always talking about what usually happens. If that’s what you want...”

“No, no. What I mean is usually I’m not the one who --”

“Maybe you don’t want to have sex with me after all. Nothing about me, _this_ version of me, the real shapeshifter me, will ever be _usual_.”

“Wait, Odo, that’s -- you’re not listening!”

“I knew better. We shouldn’t have bothered trying again.”

Quark clings to Odo as Odo starts to sit up. They’re still interlocked, Quark’s half-hard cock pressed against the wall of Odo’s shifted vagina.

The panic rising to a crescendo, Quark whines, “Why do you have to be so -- you’re always so demanding, with all your rules and laws and micromanagement, well why aren’t you like that now? Do you even want to do this? Can’t you, can’t _you_ just fuck _me_?”

“Oh.” Odo stares at him.

Odo has one arm propping himself up, partially sitting with Quark on top of him, and Odo’s other arm at some point circled around to hold Quark. He moves it to grip Quark’s bottom, then pushes Quark back into him while thrusting his own hips.

“How about this?”

“Okay, okay that’ll work,” Quark pants. His cock hardens, full again and urgent. “But -- if you can’t do a nervous system then what does this even do for you? I don’t want some misguided charity fuck.”

Odo lays back down, pulling Quark along with him. He places one hand on each buttcheek of Quark’s, thumbs curling around towards the hips.

“You’re right, it’s a different experience than all those humanoid sensations. I don't feel the same way, literally, but I do feel you. I feel everything, even if not through a nervous system. I feel your skin against me. I feel your breath on my neck, your penis inserted into my vagina --”

“Is this supposed to be dirty talk?”

With this grip, Odo pushes and pulls Quark into him again, slowly at first.

Quark whines. He bucks against Odo, but Odo digs thumbs into his hip bone to slow him.

“I wasn’t sure what it would be like -- I can’t be human again and you can’t Link, but the two of us like this gives a surprisingly close approximation. Intimate.”

“What exactly do you want from me Odo? Do you? Or what?” Quark doesn’t have enough blood in his head to filter what he’s saying. All he knows is that Odo feels amazing and all around him -- his fingers digging into his ass, his cave clenching him with such beautiful pressure, his voice rumbling through Quark’s lobes like thunder. Quark’s entirely engulfed by Odo, and he needs to know Odo feels the same.

“I have you right where I want you. You can’t think of anything else but me right now, and I of you. The way you sound, the way you twitch when I do _this_ , every little detail -- it’s _everything_.”

“But do you even come? What’s-” Quark cuts off to moan loudly, as Odo squeezes and thrusts. “What’s the point?”

Odo maintains his grip on Quark, controlling when and where he goes, and how fast. They’re developing a rhythm now, or Odo is. Slip and slide. In and out. Thrust, thrust, thrust.

“The point is us,” Odo murmurs.

Quark falls apart.

He’s a river rushing to join with Odo lake. An inseparable body. A tributary to a larger whole, together at last.

\---

_Security Log Stardate 49974_

_Nothing to report on station security for today. All is peaceful, which on its face is somewhat disturbing, but perhaps can be attributed to how I have redirected Quark’s boundless scheming towards personal matters. If only every criminal element were so easily distracted --_

[Ring ring of holocall.

“Odo! Oh Odo, you dear man. I’m so happy to have gotten a hold of you finally --”

“Hello Lwaxana. I’ll have to call you back --”

“Nonsense. Months and months of no response, and then can you believe it? I hired a PA to manage my many correspondences while I spend some quality time with my baby boy -- you know, ambassadorship being such busy work with the amount of people to stay on good terms with --”

“Lwaxana, I really can’t talk right now.”

“But the goon filed your letter under ‘low priority’. Hah! Needless to say I gave her grave admonishment. Anyway very sorry to have not responded until now, and what’s this about you becoming human for a day? And you didn’t even call me?”

“ _Lwaxana_ , I shouldn’t have even written that letter. I’m mortified that --”

Child shrieking in the background. “Hush Odoro, go play in the atrium, mommy’s got company. Where was I? Oh right, and I believe you were trying to tell me something about you and Quark --”

“That’s personal and none of your --”

“Nonsense, you and I were married once! Of course it’s my business. I’m just giddy with excitement on your behalf. Love found, after all your loneliness and difficulty with people! That’s what you were so reticent to tell me, right? I know I mistook him for a thief when we first met --”

Scoff. “He _is_ a thief.”

“A thief of your heart?” Tinkling laughter. “But he’ll be so good for you, I just know it. I don’t have to be able to read either of your minds to know how _perfect_ it will be. Look at me, I have butterflies just thinking about it. You weren’t exactly forthcoming on details, but it sounded like you were having difficulty admitting your love to him, perhaps? Well you’re in luck, because I’ve come up with the perfect plan to sweep him off his feet, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

“That really won’t be necessary...”

“First, you’ll need to hire a full Caitian orchestra, buy a hundred Bajoran fire lily bouquets, and string the Promenade with fairy lights. I can spot you the expense if need be, but it’ll be worth it. The look on that little man’s face! Next --”

“It won’t be necessary, because… we’re together.”

Pause.

“Oh! Oh Odo! Oh, goodness I’m so happy for you. I don’t know how I didn’t see it earlier. The contentment, you’re exuding it like a halo. Oh the sight of your dear smile melts my heart.”

Grunt. “Thanks.”

“No need to be bashful with me! Have you had sex yet? I’ve always been curious about changelings, well you know that, but how do you two do it? I suppose ear stuff is a given, what with Quark, but --”

“Excuse me?!” Sputtering noise. “That’s _private_.”

“Not going to kiss and tell, hmm? I suppose I’m not surprised, but I figure it doesn’t hurt to ask. Never mind, I’ll ask Quark later, wink wink, I’m sure he’ll be more forthcoming… Oh don’t look so horrified! You’re far too pleased with yourself to have much objection to an hungry old woman searching for a few juicy morsels of gossip. I’m devoted to my son at the moment, so I have to enjoy love life vicariously.”

“I will instruct Quark on threat of arrest _not_ to disclose--”

“Oh Odo, you protest too much for me to believe that you’re not dying to share the nitty gritty down and dirty--”

Door open and close. “Tell who what? Oh, hello uh Ambassador Troi, Queen of Rixx, Holder of Whatever… Ex-wife of Odo...”

“Now don’t be jealous little man. I expect you to take good care of Odo for me -- love him and cherish him just as I would. And later if you want to call and tell me exactly what that goo can do in the bedroom --”

“We-e-e-ll! I’d be _delighted_. This one has quite a few steamy tricks up those nonexistent sleeves. You see first he --”

Loud, rough clearing of throat. “ _That’s enough of that_ , Quark _!_ You don’t want us to be late for that holosuite reservation, not after you spent three hours talking me into it.”

“Odo, you said you wanted to go on dates, I’m just trying to accommodate! How was I to know you'd have such strong objections to my first seventeen choices of holoprograms? It’s like pulling a targ’s teeth with you…”

“Goodbye Lwaxana, we’ll talk again soon, maybe next year? C’mon Quark…”

“Ow, ow! Don’t grab me by the ear unless you mean to follow through. I’m going, I’m going…”

Door open and close.

“True love takes the damnest twists doesn’t it? If two people like _them_ can figure it out, that gives hope for the rest of us… Listen to me, gathering wool for an empty room.” Lovelorn sigh. “I better start brainstorming advice for the wedding now; it’ll only take them another six years.” Laughter. “I wonder if Quark would go along with a traditional Betazed dress code...”]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Shapeshift a clitoris” is from a 90s Quodo fic, a misread of a line that fandom (okay, like four people) found really funny at one point... Odo didn’t even form a clit or a vagina or anything in that fic, so I wanted to correct that. https://groups.google.com/d/msg/alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated/JFLC0vw5oQc/AgYXfufk5Z0J Shout-out to “pussyodo” for the obvious inspiration.


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